


You Speak If It Pleases Me

by Icarus_Complex



Category: A Midsummer Night's Dream - All Media Types, Midsummer Night's Dream - Shakespeare
Genre: Collars, Dom/sub Undertones, Interrogation, Light BDSM, M/M, Origin Story, Rope Bondage, good power dynamics though, hella gay, prisoner au, there's no sex just some kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-20 22:51:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14271270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icarus_Complex/pseuds/Icarus_Complex
Summary: King Oberon takes a special interest in a fairy convict, and Puck is extremely puzzled as to why.





	You Speak If It Pleases Me

Click.

Click.

Click.

The noise of carefully crafted boot heels walking lazily across the cavern floor roused Puck from his slumber. Conversation in low voices further prevented him from turning over and falling back asleep, as he had been doing for nearly a fortnight. Slumber, however vulnerable it made him, at least stopped the pangs of hunger in his gut and the unhealthy buzzing of a fairy mind blocked from magic.

The iron bars made sure of that- their close-knit pattern made it impossible to form his natural connections to the veils and natures which he was so used to manipulating. The hole in his mind felt like the empty gap where a tooth used to be- he prodded and worried at it, but no action could bring it back, not while these fucking bars remained.

He opened his eyes slightly, a dim shaft of light illuminating the ground outside his cage for a moment before the door closed again and the voices grew ever so slightly louder. He was intimately familiar with the layout of his cage- he had thrashed and railed against every corner of it in the first few days of his imprisonment, before he figured out that without magic he couldn’t heal the cold-iron burns on his skin, and nobody here was inclined to help him. Mercifully, the court had provided a slab of wood for the bottom, just big enough that if he curled up into a ball or squatted on his heels he wouldn’t be burnt by the iron bars.

Despite the impenetrable nature of the cage, he was chained to something outside of it- it felt like a rock, though he wasn’t strong enough to move it. A locked leather collar around his throat kept him from moving too far in any one direction, further limiting his movement- an extra security measure created after he had slipped his head through the bars a few days after his imprisonment began and turned the guards into newts. Perhaps that was why they had stopped feeding him.

The click of boot-heels grew louder, echoing around the small cave, and finally stopped before his cage. Despite his hunger and exhaustion, Puck felt a twinge of fear- perhaps this was his captors again, returned to inflict the tortures he had long expected. It was closely followed by anger and a resolution to do whatever was in his limited power to make them pay for keeping him down here, hungry and stymied, instead of inflicting pain upon him like he had expected (at least pain was better than all this goddamn waiting.)

Puck drew himself up into a squat, the most dignified posture he could manage in the confines of the cage. The boots were magnificent, black moth-wing fabric adorned with gold ornaments. That was the first clue of status: only very powerful faeries could bear to carry around that much mortal metal on their person. As his eyes traveled further up, he caught the end of a gold-hemmed cloak inscribed with swirling patterns that shifted and whirled in the darkness, and finally a glimpse of the driftwood crown that both elated him and terrified him.

This was the closest he had ever been to King Oberon, a fable whispered about in the small outer meadows where Puck had been created. If he was honest with himself, part of the reason he had allowed himself to be captured was to catch a glimpse of the King himself. But Oberon was notoriously inconstant and harsh, so his presence here couldn’t mean good things for Puck’s wellbeing.

The King tilted his head, appraising Puck haughtily. Puck hissed at him, and the King startled slightly. Puck locked his eyes with Oberon’s, and after a moment the King laughed, shaking his head. Oberon tapped the bars of the cage harshly with his boot, causing a clanging that grated against Puck’s irritable ears.

“Do you speak, spirit, or are you mute like the dog you imitate?”

“I speak if it pleases me,” Puck responded with a teasing air. A stormy expression crossed the King’s face, and he rattled the bars of the cage again, forcing Puck to clamp his hands over his ears.

“No, you speak if it pleases _me_.”

Puck glared up at him. “Then I shall not speak.”

Oberon glared back. “It might not have occurred to you, but you aren’t in a position to negotiate. How long has it been since you last ate? A week? Two? How long do you think you can hold your silence- until you come begging back in a much less… dignified position?”

Puck’s stomach growled rebelliously at the mention of food. He sighed once, then said between gritted teeth, “Fine. What would the great King Oberon want to ask a lowly sprite like me?”

Oberon chose to ignore the dripping sarcasm.

“Do you have a name?”

“Aye, I have one.”

Oberon waited for further information, then sighed. “And it would be…?”

“I am the robin that sings the spring into existence. I am the bright morning wind that tousles the carefully laid braids of maidens and rips the washing from the line. I am the bitter cold that turns the milk sour and rots the fruit. I am-“

Oberon interrupted his speech by placing his boot down and yanking at the chain attached to his collar, cutting off his rant. His head jerked forward into a forced bow, and his eyes watered as he stared at the King’s heel restraining the chain.

“Your name, spirit, or you get the iron.”

Puck struggled against the collar, but the king dragged his heel back, pulling his head lower until it was almost touching the bars on the front of the cage.

“Puck,” he finally spat. The king lifted his boot, and Puck sat back upright, gasping for air.

“Puck,” Oberon repeated, mulling the name over, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to believe him. Puck massaged his neck around the collar, glaring pointlessly at the floor.

“Puck,” Oberon began, “Do you know what the sentence is in my court for provoking mortals?”

Puck spluttered in surprise. “P-Provoking mortals? Surely not, I was just having a bit of fun-“

“Fun? You almost caused a fourth War of Mortality!”

“By accident, sure, but not by design-“

“I asked you a question!” The king thundered.

Puck sighed. “Okay, I don’t know what the punishment is for… ‘provoking mortals.”

Oberon’s eyes glittered darkly. “Death, dear Puck. The punishment is death.”

Puck laughed harshly. “I can’t die! Or are you unable to remember even that?”

“You can’t, you’re right. But they can make you wish you could.”

Puck’s blood ran cold. He had heard stories of the tortures that the darker members of the faery court used to quell uprisings, but he had thought they were only stories. He attempted to maintain his air of defiance.

“And? Why are you telling me this? You just want me to be afraid?”

“No,” Oberon responded quietly. “I want you to be aware. Only the king’s authority can override a verdict of the court. It is always in your best interest to do what I want. “

Puck tugged at his collar again, meeting Oberon’s eyes and not quite seeing the hatred he expected there. It was something far different- pity? enjoyment?

“Fuck you,” Puck replied.

Oberon merely shrugged, turning on his heel. He tugged the chain once more, just for the fun of it, and smiled coldly. “Think about it.”

Then he strode away, leaving Puck alone in the dark once more.

* * *

After the king’s visit, his life improved incrementally. He was still locked in the cage, but now the guards brought him food in addition to water. Of course, it was mashed acorns and bark, and as he devoured the tasteless gruel he thought longingly of the delicious wonders he had sampled in the mortal world, wines and cheeses and roasted squash. But the paste, however vile, kept him from starving to death, so he ate every crumb.

Of course, the king’s words rang in his mind. _“They can make you wish you could.”_ Puck liked to consider himself an exceptionally brave spirit, but he couldn’t help having nightmares about the malicious doctors of the court sawing him limb from limb, peeling off his skin and sticking it on again backwards, pulling out every hair on his body one by one. He woke up in a cold sweat every time someone walked by him, sure that they were a jailer come to take him to whatever red room the horrible deeds would take place in.

On the fourth day after his audience with the king, he was awoken from another of these nightmares by the rushed sound of fairy boots on cave floor. Four burly jailers came at his cage all at once, one of them opening the door with a protective glove and the other three hauling Puck out and onto the ground. One of them detached and held the chain that his collar was tied to, and they began to shove him down the corridor, his legs not quite working yet from so long in the cramped quarters. He tried to ask where they were going, but was quickly silenced each time by a strike to the head, and soon learned to keep quiet. They moved in a bewildering maze of corridors through the palace- Left, right, left, left- Puck tried to keep track, but soon had to give up. He tried to reach out with his magic to get himself free, but the strange buzzing remained- perhaps his collar contained some iron, or else the chain did.

The jailers roughly shoved him without warning into a small room. It must have been the cleanest room in the fairy kingdom, fashioned of stone walls and a sturdy wood floor, with nothing else inside but metal hooks on the walls and a single, rough wooden chair. He saw them and his pulse quickened, realizing that this was probably the room from his dreams- where they would punish him, flay him within an inch of his life until the end of time. He hung his head as the jailers took his wrists and stretched them above his head, almost to the point of pain, and bound them together tightly. They slipped them over a hook on the wall, and Puck settled on the chair, forced into the uncomfortably vulnerable position of holding his arms above his shoulders. They also took the chain tied to his collar and anchored it to the floor, ensuring he couldn’t stand up if he tried. Then, they left, slamming the door and engaging what seemed like an impractical amount of locks from the outside.

Puck waited for what seemed like an eternity, his pulse thudding in his ears and his arms growing cold. Just as he was sure he would perish from holding the position any longer, he heard the quiet click of the locks again. He raised his head to see Oberon slipping into the room, shutting the door behind him.

He felt a surge of excitement, then of apprehension. What if Oberon was just back to gloat? Or to torture him personally? As the king approached Puck looked up in an attempt to read his face, but it was hard-set and enigmatic.

Oberon reached down and lifted the chain off the floor, allowing Puck to stand and giving him a brief flare of hope before it was dashed when the King secured the chain over a higher hook on the wall and drew the chair forward again.

“Sit.”

Puck obeyed, relieved for the slight strain it took off of his neck. He chewed slightly at his bottom lip, waiting for the king to make the first move.

Oberon paced slightly in front of him, hands behind his back as if restraining himself. Puck noticed how the King averted his eyes anywhere but himself, and wondered why. When Oberon spoke, it was in a clipped, commanding voice.

“Puck. This room is completely sealed- both from physical and magical penetration. Whatever you say in here you say only to me, understood?”

Oberon paused for a moment. Puck looked up at him quizzically.

“Understood?” Oberon repeated, and Puck finally caught on.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

Puck sighed angrily. “Yes, _my lord._ “

He imbued the title with enough sarcasm to cut water. Oberon nodded.

“Good. I will need you to answer a few questions if I’m going to help you.”

Puck nodded warily.

“First: How did... _you_ ” -The king indicated his scrawny build and small stature- “-manage to evade my capture for so long?”

Puck grinned, feeling a measure of his confidence return now that he was sure he wouldn’t be tortured in the immediate future.

“How did... _you_ ” -Puck imitated Oberon’s imperious tone-“fail to capture me for so long?”

Oberon glared at him. “Don’t answer a question with a question, I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like it?”

Oberon chose not to say anything to that, and Puck’s eyes slid to the floor.

“Fine. I am not caught if I do not wish to be caught. There are places in this valley even your power does not reach.”

Oberon nodded, satisfied.

“Second: Can you tell me how, exactly, you managed to enrage the _entire kingdom of Gaul_ against our fair court?”

Puck blew out a puff of breath, trying to readjust his arms for a more comfortable position and finding none.

“’Tis a long tale, but the gist of it is I may have seduced one too many priests-“

“How many?”

Puck could hardly see how this pertained to the investigation, but he obliged the information. “About all of them.”

Oberon raised an eyebrow, but that was his only commentary.

“Anyway, after sleeping with almost all the priests, the one or two who were just too ugly decided to do something about it and may have witnessed me…”

He trailed off. This was the greatest crime in his story, a crime of carelessness. Sleeping with mortals was forbidden, but the laws had some leeway for entertaining diversions that made the king laugh. But allowing a mortal to see the fairy world was almost the worst crime on the books. Oberon stepped closer, grabbing the hanging chain and hauling Puck’s face upwards.

“Tell me.”

“He may have witnessed me opening a portal to the fairy world.”

Oberon sighed, almost as if disappointed. Puck rushed through the rest of his tale. “They decided to set up an army outside of it and capture any fairy that came out and now-“

“And now we can’t set foot in Gaul.”

“Yes.”

Oberon pursed his lips angrily. “And how did you escape? I heard there was a hail of iron upon your head.”

Puck shrugged. “I became the wind and slipped away.”

“Don’t lie,” Oberon growled, searching his eyes for untruth. The king was ridiculously close now, so near that they were breathing the same air.

Puck met his gaze angrily. “I’m not! I really did.”

“But that’s- That’s beyond the limits of magic.”

Puck’s face split into a sly grin. “Maybe for you, but not for me.”

Oberon’s eyes grew cold, and he drew his hand away from Puck’s face. Puck almost found himself leaning after the king’s touch.

“Don’t address me in that tone. I am your lord.”

“A lord, perhaps, but certainly no lord of mine.”

Oberon shoved the chair out from under Puck and he stumbled backwards, crying out in pain.

“You go too far, criminal.”

“Why do I have to address you like a savior? All you’ve done is injure me,” Puck spat.

Oberon drew himself up to his full and terrifying height, lowering his voice to an intense murmur.

“Because proper address is a form of respect, and you _will_ respect me, boy.”

Puck raised his watering eyes for a biting retort, scrabbling to his feet against the wall to try and relieve his poor, stinging shoulders, but paused at the expression on the king’s face. It was something more than pride or anger. There was a turn to his mouth and a fixedness to his gaze that hinted at something deeper. Puck decided to risk it.

“Then, is it proper for a king to personally interrogate a common criminal?”

Oberon stopped, his mouth open slightly as what Puck fancied was a small flush crept into his cheeks.

“You…. You are not a common criminal,” Oberon defended quickly, but Puck had already seen his moment of weakness and was determined to exploit it.

“Oh, please, there have been many others who commit greater crimes than I- Why don’t they have a personal audience with the King?”

Puck leaned closer to Oberon, a mischievous grin on his lips. “A personal, _private_ audience with the King? Nobody to see us… No Titania, No witnesses…”

“Stop.” Oberon commanded roughly, grabbing the rope that bound Puck’s hands and hauling him back against the wall. The rope tugged painfully at his shoulders, but he was laughing as it hurt, shaking his head.

“Poor, dear Oberon, so frustrated he’d settle for a lowly criminal just to-“

“Stop.” His voice took on a note of warning, and he fixed his burning eyes onto Puck’s and raised his hand, a threat. But now Puck was on a roll, and didn’t care what injuries might be fixed upon him.

“-get his fix, protect a criminal from physical harm because he’s the only one that gets to-“

“STOP!” Oberon’s hand came down hard on Puck’s cheek, a blistering smack. Puck’s head jerked to the side, the collar tugging at his neck, but he didn’t have time to reorient himself before the king leaned in and kissed him, the very hand that had smacked him moments before redirecting his mouth to meet Oberon’s. It moved to his hair, running through once and then tangling at the ends, pulling painfully to tilt his head back and open his mouth. He was so surprised he forgot to struggle and just let it happen, the king’s weight against him, the kiss. Finally he had the presence of mind to throw himself to the side, breaking the embrace.

“What?” He yelled a little louder than he intended to, dazed and confused, his cheek still smarting from the smack.

Oberon’s eyes were clouded as if the kiss had put him in a daze, but the clouds were quickly clearing to be replaced by sharp regret.The king sprung away from Puck as if he had been burnt, and staggered backwards. He began to pace the room, almost frantic now. Puck watched him, fascinated by the anxiety the king had never displayed before.

Oberon raised a hand.

“Puck-“

The word came out strangled, pleading, and affectionate. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Puck.”

Much sterner. This was the king talking, not Oberon.

“I have come to offer you- an out, if you will. A saving grace. You will become my servant, my lieutenant, my right-hand man, and in return I will save you from the courts. You have my word.”

Puck blinked, looking at the prospects before him. He definitely didn’t want to be consigned to torture, but still-

“My lord,” Puck offered hesitantly. “I would, but I’m afraid I enjoy mischief much more than obedience.”

Oberon smiled. “Oh, have no doubt, you would still create mischief, Puck. But you would create it to my grander ends, not your small fancies.”

Puck looked up at him, weighing the options, the kiss still warm upon his lips. He had a suspicion that lieutenantry would come with.. additional duties, and knew that the king’s heart would always belong to his queen, as that was the way fate had dictated the world. Yet, it was tempting- and certainly more tempting than being skinned alive. He lowered his head towards the floor.

“I accept.”

Oberon allowed himself a small smile, then stepped forward and untied the cuffs from Puck’s wrists, taking the chain from the wall and curling it around his hand. With one finger he pointed to the ground, and Puck knelt, his forehead almost on the cool wood floor. It was humiliating, but also curiously exhilarating.

“I accept, _what?_ “

Puck sighed, and closed his eyes, feeling the king slowly remove the collar from his neck.

“I accept, my lord.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work here so please be kind and all feedback is appreciated!


End file.
